I, Jaune
by Hallucinia
Summary: And my father spoke: Vos sin subire. Mortal, now kneel. After a lifetime of bowing and scraping, I found that my knee was too stiff to bend anymore. PENDING REWRITE.
1. Updates and Stuff

Hello, people!

So, you guys probably noticed I haven't updated in a while. And I really am sorry, that it might be some while before I can continue.

But I just want to lay down some base expectations, both to motivate myself and clarify some problems.

One, I do not plan to abandon this fiction. In fact, my expectations as I wrote down some ideas, only grew. As I am a novice writer, however, I plan to slowly expand my ideas. Unfortunately, this will take some time, as I am not the most fast or efficient of writers but I really believe in some quality over quantity.

In fact, I am splitting it up into three major Arcs, each more cosmic than the last.

So far, I am working on the first Arc, tentatively titled as "Retrieval". It will involve the birth of a new faith, a shattered land and the artifact known as the World Breaker's Hand.

After reading and tweaking the universe of "I, Jaune," I decided one man's perspective was far too limited for the story I wanted to tell. So, in effect, this is my plan: for the first Arc (as opposed to lower case arc), I am planning on eight major works of fiction, each detailing each of the eight major characters I have and how they arrived at Beacon. This I will finish first, as a major source of background material. However, at this point, I am unsure whether I will publish it first as a starting point, or begin directly at each character's arrival at Beacon and slowly filter scenes in as flashback or as some kind of "prequel."

Anyways, after I've finished this, I plan to condensed the eight works into two works, each focusing on one four person team (RWBY, etc). This will probably the the shortest segment, and will mainly involve school politics turned deadly and the schemes of the Investor-Mage, Ozpin, the Wizard of Credit. This is because I find most stories have a lack of focus on that most exciting and voracious of occupations...banking.

Whoo-hoo!

Then, the story will split into four two person arcs, interwoven with each other, until the very end, when it all comes together into a grand climax, which will lead into Arc 2, which at this point is tentatively either titled "Empire" or "Ascension".

Hopefully, this next Arc will involve the Election of Life/Death and the destruction of One Thousand Kingdoms in the Ultimate Void. Something like that.

Get ready for some very interesting campaign promises.

_However_, this will probably take much time, and I ask for your patience, even though I know I am in no position to demand any, as bad as my track record is.

However, just as a mild taste on what the plot will become:

For RETRIEVAL:

I, Jaune will mainly focus on (surprise!) Jaune, as he attempts to deal with inner demons and external foes. It will primarily be more of a political, backstabbing cloak-and-shadows game, at least until he reaches Beacon. At least, that's the plan. It may later have a spin-off focusing on the Kingdom of Darius-Upesh-Na-Ark.

The Eight Main Characters (why bother trying to hide it?) will be Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang, Jaune, Pyrrha, and surprise, surprise,

Cardin Winchester and Velvet Scarletina. I have some very interesting backgrounds and perspectives I plan for the last two.

I've changed massive amounts of the backgrounds. Jaune is still a member of the First Family, specifically, the clan of Arkeniensis, the House of Umbriansis, though expelled by his Father, the Dom Primus, for his role in the Tarpein Tribulations that broke the clan's power.

After escaping by the skin of her teeth from the domination of her gods, the _Tír Tírgonaich_, Ruby discovers secrets that even angels may fear to know.

Weiss's heart will be broken and reforged. Perhaps not in that order, and many times over.

Pyrrha will begin and end a cataclysm.

Cults are very dangerous, Blake. And playing with demons from beyond creation is very, very bad.

Cardin will finally be clean.

ANNND, somewhat sadly, Yang and Velvet are still undergoing some planning, though will be back.

However, all of this is still subject to change. I sincerely apologize, and I hope you leave your thoughts.

NOTE:

Currently, I've been reading a book called "90 Days to Your Novel" which has been very helpful. The author gives a lot of good advice, such as focusing on the characters. Before, I focused on the background so much I had to shoehorn my people into it, but now, after filling out a personality chart and background for my people, I can much more easily adjust the story to my people, and not the other way around. I recommend aspiring writers to check it out.

Another of her recommendations was to write your characters in mundane situations to get a grip on them. None of them, even the most heroic, will be dodging bullets 24/7. So, I've been doing some of those exercises and will probably upload a couple of them as teasers when I sufficiently polish them. They will not be counted as a part of the main canon proper.

As you probably noticed, I love infodumping, and I have been very reliably informed this can be really annoying, so it's not going to appear in the actual storyline. So, the most awesome thing with the short drabbles will be that I can show off all the political and linguistic acrobatics I have been doing (most of the languages in this story are based on real ones, but I've made up individual grammar rules that are hopefully internally consistent. I don't want to learn seven languages for a single story). Though, don't expect anything like Tolkien, I've just spend a minute or two thinking about them. Also, all the views of politics and philosophy are strictly my own. It isn't meant as a personal attack or anything, and again, if you have any comments, please leave them in the review section! I love reading them!

So, onto the first Chapter,

Erratio, a poem by Jaune!


	2. Hear Me, My Rebellious Sons

First actual chapter with actual plot, yay!

Enjoy!

I'm still new to this, so please tell me what I'm doing right or wrong!

...

"**_Fear not_**_!_"

He descended upon wings of fire.

_"Hear me, oh sons of the Earth!"_

He had come again, in His guise as an angel.

_"The gods have heard your prayers."_

It had become second nature by then.

_"They have heard your cries of lamentation, and can bear it no longer_."

Darius-Upesh-Na-Ark stood next to him, massive and unyielding as always. His skin was earthen, and his eyes smoldered as if from the inner heat of the very Earth. Slight Senesefretu leered in his dragon face, and held horizontal the enormous staff of law. Dutiful Abu-Agenota, raging war god, wept blood from his eyes and wielded an absolutely tremendous sword of judgment above his head. Triumphant, shining Gynogoran trumpeted their coming with his great horn of absolute victory. And Achish, brutal Achish-nam-Maccam, stood, stark black, in his cloaked guise as death, slowly, ever moving, following behind his companion's footsteps. Each was a minor deity, and a symbol of Order's victory over the Forces of Chaos, the Great Enemy, the _Grimm_. But even they paled in comparison to the Figure before them.

The massive Angel led them. He was so bright, the people could barely look upon His majesty. Twined around Him were thousands of intricate melting rings, upon which were another thousand weeping eyes. His eight wings were set afire and covered His glorious shining face as if to hide His Holy Sight from the impurity of the world. Always around Him, there were the endless susurrations of the old speech.

_Deus ex Saboath, Deus ex Saboath,_

_Holy, holy, holy is God!_

He was Istahariel, one of the Seraphim, direct Messenger of God. While the rest of His divine entourage were merely exalted mortals, He was a true Messenger of Heaven.

The Angel's feet touched the base clay, and He strode towards the first of the terrified supplicants. He had done this a thousand times. He had memorized each and every detail.

They would fall to their knees. They would weep. Then, when He was gone—

He was still thinking when the first man stabbed Him in the stomach.

…

The first sign that something was wrong was when Jaune felt an intense pain searing across his stomach. He tried to move, tried to curl back, to get away, but his joints seized up, and his eyes widened, as the HUD of his power armor fizzled. Instantly, the illusion shattered, leaving a gleaming chrome figure where there had once been an Angel.

It was no ordinary blade.

"Las'a Ma'alegi Emet!"

_You are not an Angel_.

The man roared, tears of hatred in his eyes, into the sparking camcorders in Jaune's face. Spittle coated the screen, now unable to fully _clear_ because of the damned EMP blade—

Jaune backhanded the man, the power armor adding to his strength, and the man flew across the square. Jaune grunted with relief as the ice-cold _rush_ of painkillers indicated his armor had reengaged. Only the fact that man hadn't been holding the disruptor blade correctly had saved him.

But it was no longer just that man; the whole damned town had just gone _bugfuck_ nuts.

The next peasant to charge up received a blow to the stomach for his troubles. Jaune gritted his teeth, as his own muscles tore.

_Impossible_.

Ordinarily, a Chord was a force of nature in the lower worlds. In their own time, entire armies had fallen before them and each member had decided the destiny of nations, uplifting kings and casting down idols.

As they had been assigned here. But now—

A Chord team did not fight. That was left to the actual Gens-men and retainers. And for him—

_Disgraced—_

He had no choice.

_I trust you will do a good job, my son. _

His fingers tightened. The memories came back.

_Come back with your shield, or on it_.

And he had done neither—but—

He let years of instinct take over.

_You were supposed to war for the glory of the Clan_.

_A burning temple. Laughter. Blood, spilt on the streets__._ _The Unbound_._ _His mother_—_

_The spear—_

He pushed it all away. _Three thwacks_. The next three screaming men fell, just like the dust of his memories.

"Fall back! Fall back, to the center of the square!"

He hurled himself away, trusting they would follow his orders. Hitting the ground hard, he dodged a yet another screaming woman with a pitchfork, tripping her. Her two friends were felled in similar fashion, ignominiously. He stomped on their weapons, hoping to break them.

They shone and rang, the force ricocheting up his foot. Lines of eldritch _Xartupotisian_ flared to life on them, defying the rule of nature. He cursed. This was very bad.

_Imbued_.

By now, the rest of the Chord had reengaged in the center of the square. Darius roared, and let the blood of the Lords of the Crescent flow through him, lifting up two men and hurling them into the crowd. Senesh, son of the Priest-King of the Red Lands, had deftly dropped the oversized ceremonial staff and even now was raining curt, expert blows upon his enemies. Achish, Bearer of the Divine Fire of Jeroboam, the Land of Miracles, cast down baleful judgment upon those who would attack him. And Agen and Gygor were busy holding their own as well.

Gygor slammed another man against the floor. Something cracked. The man didn't get up.

"Senesh, _where the goddamned fuck is the shuttle?_"

"Elam's balls, it's hard enough fighting and transceiving and with _your_ voice—"

There was a massive explosion from above. Agen swore.

"Do _not _tell me that was—"

"**Clear**!"

Achish had hurled something into the middle of the melee. Agen's eyes widened as he recognized—

It exploded.

Four of the five gleaming men stood firm. Only Jaune, with his compromised armor, was knocked down.

The townspeople weren't so lucky.

The Enron class was not lethal. But the effects had been designed to work on powered armor, which the townspeople did _not_ have.

Most of the people in the square were down. But more would have heard the commotion. Something had shot down their vessel. And the power gauges of their powered armor slipped had perilously low, as the people began to raise a massive disruption field.

Still, there was a brief moment of silence. Coughing, blinking the tears from their eyes, they shook their heads and tried to clear their wits. Small pieces of their newest home, the Seraphim-class shuttle _Ira Aquila_, floated down gently. But there was no time to grieve.

There was a hissing sound as Jaune disengaged his helmet.

…

_Massive fuckup_.

That was my first thought. I could taste the blood in my mouth, but I ignored it.

"Senesh, get the emergency beacon ready. I don't want to die in this shithole of a village."

Agen shook his head grimly.

"Never again. Not like Udi."

There was a brief silence as we contemplated dear, departed Udi. Then we where moving.

Fuck converting_ Edom._ I have had enough of religious heresies. We were getting out of here.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Chords were not _overwhelmed_.

Ordinarily, a situation such as this one was unthinkable. We were a group of five against five hundred, but we where the Devoted while they where the Faithless.

No matter the numbers, it was untenable. You _simply_ could not take down power-armored troops with Steel Age tech. The difference in power was simply too great. I kicked at a nearby blade again.

The disruption field flickered. Clan technology, alright. And it wasn't just that either—even the normal peasant weapons had been reinforced by power granted directly by the High Council. Not even I, or even some members of my family—

_Not your family_

Not even some of my rulers knew Old Xartupotisian.

Someone had set us up. Someone had gone against the Code Fidelitas and had given the Lower Kingdoms up-tech, and Imbued them with reality defying power.

_Goddamned idiots_.

If any more of the Bound Grimm managed to get ahold of such might, it would be a disaster—even before the Imbued weaponry was factored in. The Denovan Enclave had given ample proof of _that.__ And we had paid the price. Or at least, Umid-Ayan-Udiwah did._

I spat. This was not the death I was looking for. Not yet—

Something missed me by a mere centimeter. I howled as the heat of the passing burned my face.

Gygor roared.

"Gunshot! Those fuckers have AP guns!"

Achish sneered, clapping his hands mockingly. They rang with a metallic _ting_.

"Well, that's it. We're fucking dead."

Darius slapped him across the helmet.

"Shut up, Achish. We're not dead until we're _goddamned_ _dead_. Got it?"

He looked up at me, as the distinctive whine of a machine gun warming up became more apparent.

It was a shame. I hadn't been with Darius the longest. But over the years, we had become as close as brothers.

I gave him a sardonic smile. He grinned back.

"Jaune, sir, it was—"

His armor cracked and he fell, boneless, limp. There lay the son of Ark-isu-na-dad-Koresh, the King of Kings, Heir to the Universe, Lord of the Empire of Ark-an-Assad. Just like that.

Something _cold_

I coughed

_It gripped me_.

"No."

Senesh turned around, shaking his head, eyes for once wild.

"Field's too great! No warp—"

He fell back, clutching his shoulder, red blossoming. Agen pulled him away, trying to shield him with his own body. Gygor screamed, gesticulating at the heavens. Achish was looking around desperately, for an opportunity, _anything_. No one wanted to die, even him. And Darius…

"_No!_"

I could hear more people screaming from the distance. The slow _wrm-wrm_ of machines powering. The heavy _hsh-hsh_ of the breathing of my teammates.

"_We will not die here_."

I spoke, and I _knew _it rang with the weight of **truth**.

My glory surged. It—

Instantly, my armor locked.

_Emergency—unauthorized use of Talent—standby for Termination._

I could feel the whine.

_No no no no no_

It was _forbidden_.

It was not for me.

If I used it—I would die. They would die. The whole place—

No

I would die anyways—

I was not—

_Not for the Excidosus, not for you_—

I broke the _Code_, and

_Desecrator!_

I lost it—

_Traitor!_

**No!**

And I _screamed_, and tore my armor away. It crumpled like so much tinfoil.

It was ridiculous. I must have looked ridiculous, in my skinsuit, near-naked, bullets pinging all around me—

But

I held my Talent, my aura, and _let go_.

The earth shook, under the weight of my all consuming _glory_.

...

Darius—

Darius was in a maze of pain. It _hurt_.

Am I…dead?

A burst of pain raged through his body as some _damned fool_ stepped on him—

"Arkensis _fuck_!"

What was the damned whistling—

Something grabbed him, and he tried to fight back.

"Calm! Calm! It's me, Gygor!"

"Wha—what the hell is going on!"

There was a tense laugh.

"Someone's about to lay down the _hurt_."

…

What defined the right to rule?

Was it Law of the Council, with their Golden Answers, Bulwarks to the Six Hundred and Sixty Six Questions posed by the Grimm to reality itself?

The Surety of Science? The Beliefs of Man?

None of it, _at that second_, was the right answer to _me_.

It was _solipsism_.

I am.

I _existed_.

I was _sovereign_.

To use the _Talent_

In the videos and manuals and comics, it was described so easily.

Gesture

Feel

Believe.

Then, it came.

No.

_This_ was to use the _Talent_.

I spoke, I gestured, I thought, it _was_.

I commanded the elements, and they cowered before.

The winds howled, hurling back their blandishments. The sniper, gunner, shooter, whatever _it didn't matter_—

He raised high his weapon, and dared to bring it against me.

We locked eyes, I showed him _eternity_.

He fell, the gun falling from his hands.

In hordes they came, bringing swords, guns, explosives and more against me. In my weaker self, perhaps I would have deigned to distinguish between them. Perhaps I would have fallen. Perhaps I would have died.

They were not worthy of my attention. They were moths before my fire.

I waved my hand, and their blows could not harm me. I spoke, and they fell down and knelt before me. I thought, and they begged for my mercy.

One man

He wept, performing proper obeisance.

I allowed him forward. He raised something black.

What was this?

I was amused.

I was invinc—

A memory flashed—

A Neuro-Mnemonic—

Loop-

Loop-

Loop-

Loop-

Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop Loop

He spasmed, and fell.

…

And so it was.

Darius held onto Jaune's body, grimly.

Senesh staggering, had gotten onto his feet.

Bloodied Achish was laughing, daring death to take him.

Gygor was singing a hymn, something he had heard when he was at his mother's knee.

Agen once again held high his glorious, useless sword.

They awaited death.

But it never came.

For

the

sky

exploded.


	3. I Speak

With a start, I awoke.

I coughed. The grit and dust of wherever I was had really gotten to me. Groaning, I rose. I really needn't have bothered.

For, again, I was nowhere.

The same blandness that featured in so many of my dreams assailed me. All there was, in my dream world, was that dull, black sky and that endless white desert. No moon. No stars. No plants. No anything. Just sameness, flatness. Forever.

I laughed, almost hysterically. I really hope that does not say something about my personality.

I stood, brushing the soft, bleached sand off of my naked dream body, and I breathed. I focused, and I reached out my hand, and with a thought, formed a sword out of the dream stuff I was in. It was an ugly, grey thing; bland, like the skies, the earth, the horizon, like everything around it. It throbbed slightly, and I could hear in the whoosh of the blade my darkest thoughts—but it was good enough. It was balanced. It could kill. Since my capture at the hands of the Denovan Grimm Cultist _i_-Torak, _cursed be his name_, I had been practicing, for our eventual reckoning. His grim, laughing face hovered before me, and I slashed through it.

_Udiwah will be avenged_.

"That sword doesn't really fit you, you know."

I almost dropped said sword in shock. I looked behind, and _there she was_. The girl had not been there before. Her sharp, green eyes pierced me, and her flaming red hair illuminated the area. She radiated calm, sincerity, _life_. In a very real way, she was the only spot of color in my own personal hell. I supposed I should be relieved for another soul in my dark dominion. For let me tell, I was a teenaged boy with teenaged needs. Some parts of me reacted faster than others. I crushed those instincts down—for I knew what this could only mean.

_Psychic infiltration_.

I raised high my weapon, and snarled, calling my dream armor to me. _i-_Torak had tortured me for days within my own mind. He had seduced me, broken me, humiliated me and scarred me. I would not bow to such an insult again.

"_Identify yourself!_"

She smiled, coyly. I tried not to notice how pretty she was.

"I don't remember you being so dramatic last time we met. Then again, it has been several years. How are you?"

"I am Jaune. But you would already know that. You are in my mind, and I am _sovereign_ here. Again, I ask you, one last time: _who are you_?"

"You'd not know me now. But you used to know me as the _Ieri Lonchyi_."

The foreign word meant nothing to me. Her damned smugness—

It _fucking _ticked me off.

"Enough with word games, witch! I will not fall to them. Be clear, and tell me who you are and what you want, and we may conclude our transaction. I may even forgive your trespass. But _shit with me_—"

I gestured, and vines the color of spilt wine erupted from the desolate earth, grasping at her feet and pulling her roughly to her knees. Surprise registered on her face, and I felt a vicious glee at the outrage I could see in her eyes as she struggled with her bindings.

_Oh yes_, i-_Torak_, _I have learned_.

She eased her struggling when I lay my sword directly at her throat.

"And you will regret ever invading my sanctum."

She held my gaze defiantly, then _laughed_. She blew on my face. It smelt of metal, blood, and a slight sweetness I could not quite place. She smiled again, twisting the face she was wearing in a predatory manner. I suppressed a shudder. It did not suit her.

"I only have a few minutes. My dear master will recover soon, and I wear her form."

She raised an eyebrow, and pouted in a distracting way. I frowned. She sighed.

"This body will soon be very familiar to you. You'll know her as Sanctum, when you meet her. She'll tell you that."

"Who is your master? What _are _you? Why are you doing this?"

She rolled her eyes, then winced slightly as I dug my sword tip even deeper. It was a clear warning.

She dared to _glare_ at me.

"Jaune, don't be so _uptight_. Relax. I just don't want to be lost again, in case she dies. Thanix is a _fucking _dick."

"And? Continue."

"So, here: You will _speak_, and she will _listen_. It is vital this happens so. Events are moving faster than you can imagine, and your father is still alive."

_The Primarch? First Consul?_

"Dux Tyrion Ark? _What_?"

But she had already moved on. For the first time, her expression hardened, and she looked me in the eye.

"Don't you _dare_ betray her. She will be both your _lance and shield_."

_My lance and shield—_

She saw my reaction, and winked.

"Your personal _Lancea et Sanctum_. Eh, Pontifex?"

I roared. I threw the sword aside, and seized her by the throat and brought her face to face with me.

"**Tell me! Where is it? Where is _it_? Where is the goddamned _Spear of Destiny?_**"

She crumbled away into dust.

And I was left there, standing.


End file.
